Without Salvation?
His mind was honed and molded by years of war and strife and his heart was like stone. All traces of humanity had long since died in him.
He was a shorter man, standing just over five foot six inches. Yet he was broad and thick with heavy looking shoulders that led into a narrower waist. His legs, like him, were shorter yet thick and strong. For all this he was deceitfully agile and quick beyond the following even of a man's eye. He had dark shoulder length hair that adorned his head and a thick black beard that reached down to his chest. In his eyes there was no mercy, yet at times he could be moved to pity by the suffering of a child or widow. His face was etched by the years exposed to the world and it's atrocities.
His youth was a torment and a mystery that even those closest to him never understood. Though in his years of war he often considered it and was thankful because, as he felt, it prepared him. His young man hood was filled with years of simple laborious work and more often than not, solitude. It was not until many years later in his life when men see on the horizon of thief journey times of peace that his years of imprisonment and thralldom would begin. It was in these years that his life was sifted like wheat and all that had survived his early decades of suffering and all that was given as a good gift after them was taken from him and destroyed. For seven years he lived in captivity and for three he lived as an outlaw in the dark woods of the mountains. Now it was that for two years he lead an ever growing assault, now becoming a campaign of war against the far easterners from across the sea. Daily his army grew and it was the greatest warriors that came to serve under his banner. Men and even some women who in battle were worth ten, fifty and some even 100. Yet none would ever contend with him for a few guessed at the truth and he knew it. There was a powerful and ancient spirit that rested over him and it was not by the hands of mankind the he would meet his final doom.